


The Language of Love (Or Some Shit Like That)

by flightlessxbird



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Growing Up Together, M/M, Pining, so much pining is soon to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:42:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessxbird/pseuds/flightlessxbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ian and Mickey dive headfirst into the Milkovich's collection of World War II films, they bring the phrase "language of love" to a whole new level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been circulating in my head for a while and I'm finally writing it! It's going to be a long one you guys, so I hope you stick around and enjoy :)

                One thing that Ian loved about going to Mandy Milkovich’s house was her brothers’ movie collection. He was only allowed to come over when her dad wasn’t home, and usually her brothers were out too. He and Mandy would raid her brothers’ movies, all of which were either stolen or borrowed (borrowed and never returned, that is. So basically stolen.) Mandy’s mom didn’t want them watching those movies since most of them were scary or inappropriate and they were only seven years old, but she let them do anything if Ian gave her his best pleading grin. She was kind of a drunk, but not like Frank. She was nice and always a pushover for Ian and Mandy’s complementary puppy faces. She’d make them hot chocolate and popcorn and they’d run around the house grabbing all the pillows and blankets. They’d make themselves a little blanket nest where they’d lie and watch movies all day. Mandy’s mom would always warn them when it was time for them to clean up and for Ian to leave. Mandy and her mom would walk him home, just in time for them to get home before the rest of their family did. It was a system that worked for the almost the whole winter break from school. Until one afternoon, when Mandy’s mom fell asleep on the couch while watching The Shining with the kids.

                Ian started to feel like he’d been at Mandy’s house for longer than usual, when the front door was thrown open and a little boy ran inside, slamming the door behind him.

                “Mom! Iggy broke my nose again!” He whined, stomping into the living room. Ian knew from what Mandy told him that all her brothers were older than them, but Ian was taller than this boy. He recognized him as Mickey from a photo album that Mandy’s mom showed him once when she was especially hammered. The pictures were a little old because Mickey had short blonde hair in them. His hair seemed to have faded considerably since then because now it was shaggy and dark brown. He was staring down Ian and Mandy as blood trickled out of his nose and there was already a dark bruise forming under his eye.

                “What are you doing with my movies?” Mickey was shouting but Mandy’s mother was still fast asleep. Mandy looked up at Mickey with a mortified expression. She had just been caught using her brother’s things after all. Ian however, was less than impressed with Mickey’s intimidation tactics. His puffed out chest, his snarling scowl, and his balled up little fists in contrast to his size and baby-like face made Ian giggle.

                “What are you laughing at?” Mickey hissed. Ian forced himself to be serious again and shook his head.

                “Nothin’, I promise. I’m Ian Gallagher.”

                “I didn’t ask who you were, shithead.”

                “Don’t be a jerk, Mickey. We’re done with the movies anyway.” Mandy sneered at her older brother and pushed herself up off the floor, ejecting the movie from the VCR. “Just because you don’t have any friends doesn’t mean you have to be mean to mine.”

                Mickey stiffened at his sister’s words. He was scowling still but Ian got the feeling he was really upset, and not just about his movies.

                “I _have_ friends,” Mickey insisted.

                “Our family doesn’t count. You’re nine now, Mickey. You can’t hang out with just Iggy and Colin forever.” Mandy went about putting the movie back on the shelf and started to channel surf. Mickey stared on at his sister with a sort of lost look. He glanced a couple times at Ian who was watching him curiously. Finally Mickey scrunched his crooked nose up, wincing at the pain it caused.

                “Get me when Mom wakes up so she can fix my nose.” He turned on his heels to trudge to his room, but Ian was quick to stand up.

                “I can fix it.” He didn’t know why he was so eager to help this short-fused firecracker of a kid seeing as how he clearly already disliked Ian, but he felt sort of bad for using his movies all winter break without Mickey’s permission. Mickey scoffed.

                “You’re like, five. What would a _baby_ know about fixing a broken nose?”

                “I’m seven!” Ian whined, narrowing his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and decided to hit Mickey where it hurt. “ _You’re_ the one who looks like a baby, you stupid midget.”

                Mickey was furious. He looked about as close to murderous as a tiny wannabe thug kid could get. Before Ian could react, Mickey was on him, slamming his fists into Ian’s face. It was then Ian remembered his older brother Lip’s advice. Don’t underestimate someone just because they’re small, they can still kick your ass. And that’s just what Mickey was doing. Those little fists had intense power and anger behind them and if Ian wasn’t so busy getting beat up, he’d have wondered where all that anger came from. Mandy heard the commotion and whipped around to see her brother beating the hell out of her best friend.

                “Mickey! Get off him!” She grabbed Mickey’s shoulders and thankfully he let her pull him off Ian. But not before a crack echoed in the living room. Ian felt a familiar pressure in the bridge of his nose and smelled iron. Then the blood began to trickle out. Ian could taste blood in his mouth as well, so he spit it out into his hand so he could wipe it on his shirt, but something white peeking out of the crimson puddle in his palm had Ian completely forgetting about his beat-down.

                “It’s out!” He screamed enthusiastically. The siblings Milkovich were staring at Ian in utter confusion. Mickey almost seemed disappointed that his bullying hadn’t broken Ian’s spirit, and Mandy was still holding onto Mickey’s shoulders and quirking an eyebrow at her friend as if he’d lost his mind. No kid who’s just been beaten bloody smiles that big. Ian jumped up off the floor and shoved his bloody hand into the other kids’ faces, and they recoiled immediately with disgust.

                “Look! My last baby tooth!” Ian was bouncing from foot to foot and his blood was dripping all over the floor, some splattering onto Mickey’s shoes. “Mickey knocked it out!” The siblings leaned over and peaked into Ian’s hand. Mickey looked between Ian’s palm and his face and his previously aggressive expression became placid. Ian was tougher than Mickey thought and earned a tad of his respect.

                But just a tad.

                “Guess you’re not a baby anymore then,” Mickey admitted. Ian laughed giddily and wiped the tooth clean on his shirt. Fiona was going to be pissed that he bloodied up another white shirt but he didn’t care just then. He shoved the tooth into the pocket of his cargo pants and zipped it shut, looking up to see the kids still staring at him. Mickey’s arms were now crossed and he was raising his eyebrows at Ian.

                “You’re not gonna put it under your pillow for the tooth fairy, right? _Tell me_ you know that crap’s not real.”

                Ian felt a pang of sadness in his chest. He knew the tooth fairy wasn’t real, of course he knew. A lot of kids in the South Side stopped believing in junk like that a long time ago, Ian included. But Ian also knew that Fiona loved being his and Lip’s makeshift tooth fairies. Usually that was a job for parents, but seeing as how their ‘parents’ were just glorified sperm and egg donors, they weren’t around often enough to take on any kind of parental role. They were more like reverse tooth fairies, taking the kids’ money any chance they got. But Fiona would always keep quarters hidden away for when Lip and Ian lost teeth. The boys found out when Ian was five and they found the little wooden box they made Fiona in school where she kept their teeth and her quarters. It always made Ian sad that Fiona was only thirteen and she had to be a mother for her little brothers and sister. However, she would beam right with the kids whenever they ran up to her with the handful of quarters the “tooth fairy” left for them.

                “I know…” Ian glanced away sheepishly. “But my sister likes that we still believe in stuff like that. Or well, we tell her we do.”

                “Whatever,” Mickey shrugged and headed to the kitchen, coming back with two cans of coke. He handed one to Ian before cracking open his own. After taking a long swing of the soda, he held it to his broken nose. Ian did the same.

                “Where’s _my_ coke?” Mandy complained.

                Mickey shot her an annoyed look. “Get it your own damn self.” She rolled her eyes and shoved her brother, then went to the kitchen to get her own drink. Mickey flipped her off as she disappeared around the corner. He turned back to Ian who was feeling his nose tenderly.

                “Can you really fix it?” Mickey asked, gesturing to his nose. Ian gave a quick nod and set his coke down on the table. He felt around his nose for a moment more before grabbing it with the heels of his hands and with a firm push and a little yelp of pain following a loud crunch, he moved it sideways to line it up how it was supposed to be.

                Mickey cocked a brow at the redheaded boy who was inhaling harshly through his nose to try to lessen the pain. Ian tried to smile but it became a grimace. Now that Mickey was leaning in to see that Ian’s nose had indeed been rebroken into its proper position, he noticed the flurry of freckles on the ginger’s face. He noticed a lot of things about Ian just then. The intensity of the freckles splattered on every exposed part of his body, the vibrancy of his curly, orange locks, the clarity of his bright green eyes, and most of all his stupid, goofy grin that was almost completely diagonal across his stupid, goofy face. Plus, he was impressed that the kid seemed to rebreak his nose flawlessly.

                “Where’d you learn that?”

                “My sister taught me, ‘cause Lip and I always break each other’s noses and we can’t go to a doctor, so she just showed us how to do it. Cool, huh?”

                Mickey was genuinely worried that Ian’s grin was going to split his face in half. He was used to scaring other kids, _especially_ after beating them up, but Ian wasn’t even remotely fazed by the event. He’d probably forgotten all about it.

                “Can you fix mine?”

                “Yeah!” Ian nodded happily and took a quick sip of his soda before setting it back down and pressing the heels of his hands on the sides of Mickey’s nose.

                “Okay, when I say now I want you to take a sharp breath.”

                “Why?”

                “I don’t know, my sister always says that.” Ian shrugged and pushed Mickey’s nose back into place, earning a surprised yowl from the other boy. Mickey winced and touched his nose gingerly, satisfied that it was back to its proper shape before Iggy decided to drop kick his face.

                “Thanks.” Mickey grinned and sounds from the kitchen caught his attention. Mickey peeked into the kitchen with his scowl right back on his face.

                “What are you doing?” He questioned.

                “Mom’s still asleep. You want dinner or not?” She huffed indignantly and pulled out a box of leftover pizza. “Why didn’t the others come back?”

                “Iggy and Colin are sleeping over next door. Don’t know where Jamie and Tony screwed off to.”

                “Oh well, more for us,” Mandy shrugged and leaned her head out of the kitchen. “Dad’s not coming home tonight Ian, you wanna sleep over?”

                “Can I call my sister and tell her?”

                “Phone’s in the kitchen,” Mickey said, looking over his shoulder back at Ian. Ian scurried into the kitchen and watched as Mandy pulled various snack foods and sodas out of the fridge which Ian supposed were to be some sort of side dishes to their pizza. Then again, he wasn’t so sure if Fruit by the Foot and Gushers could be considered a side dish. As soon as Fiona picked up, Ian was quick to talk.

                “Hey Fi, can I stay over at Mandy’s tonight? Her dad’s not comin’ home tonight, and her brothers are out.” Ian heard crying on the other line and frowned immediately, figuring Fiona must have her hands full with Carl and Debbie.

                “You know, nevermind. I’ll just come home.”

                “No! Go ahead, stay with Mandy. Maybe ask to borrow a movie or something, Lip’s bored of watching the same crap we have over and over.”  Fiona’s heavy optimism always amazed Ian, and the audible smile in her voice even as Carl wailed in the background bothered him.

                “You sure? I could help out if Carl’s still crying—“

                “Ian, hang up. Have fun with Mandy. I love you.”

                Ian sighed. “Love you too, Fi.” Once Ian hung up, he turned back around to come face to face with Mickey who was looking him up and down as if sizing him up. Their difference in size wasn’t totally noticeable. If they had been the same age, that is. But Mickey was two years older than Ian and he was a hair smaller than him. Ian heard once that people who are little when they’re young sometimes grow up to be really big. He kind of hoped Mickey would grow up really big, because his lacking stature seemed to bother him. Mickey’s eyes flickered with something that Ian couldn’t quite place, and he seemed to come to a decision about the redheaded boy before him.

                “I keep the best movies in my room. Grab all those pillows and blankets.” He grabbed two of the plates of warmed up pizza and junk food that Mandy had set up and made his way into the back of the house, Mandy following with a third plate and more cans of coke. Mickey accepted him and Ian seemed to even be growing on him.  Ian animatedly ran around the living room, picking up the bits and pieces of his and Mandy’s little movie nest and dragging them off to Mickey’s room. Now it was his and Mandy and _Mickey’s_ movie nest.


	2. Frozen Beaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian is invited to sleep over at the Milkovich's home, and he and Mickey become closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a bit of writer's block the last few weeks but I'm forcing myself through it since I need to work on my Big Bang fic. Let me know what you think of this chapter :)

                “The hell you doin’ just standing there? Pick something out already!” Mickey went about setting up the blankets and pillows around the floor while Ian stared at the collection of films Mickey hoarded from his brothers. Almost all of them were war movies, except for the Army of Darkness and The Evil Dead movies at the end of the shelf. Ian and Mandy already watched three horror movies today so he decided against those. He ran the pad of his thumb along the movie titles before it settled on one called The Pianist. He remembered seeing a trailer for it when he and Lip snuck into the theater about two years ago. It looked interesting enough. He held it up before Mickey who scrunched up his nose.

                “I guess that’s a good one. But we’re watching Saving Private Ryan after!” Mickey snatched the movie from Ian’s hand. Mandy had just come back in carrying the VCR into Mickey’s room, and Ian frowned as the VCR was almost half her size.

                “Maybe you should’a brought the VCR, Mickey. It’s kind of heavy for Mandy.”

                “Shut up,” Mickey said. “It’s my house. You can tell me what to do when _you_ live here. Even then, _don’t_.” He adopted what seemed to be his signature scowl and took the VCR from his sister, setting his beside his television and attaching the cables. Ian shrugged the whole situation off. He’d rather not fight with Mickey again. Besides, Ian had a feeling that Mickey was going to bully him more the closer they got. And he didn’t think he’d mind it either. Ian settled down in the middle of the blanket nest, to the left of Mandy, until Mickey popped the movie in the VCR and turned to glare down at him.

                “I’m lying in the middle, so move,” he ordered, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. Ian just shrugged and rolled away from Mandy, leaving enough space for Mickey in the middle. Mickey smirked and lied down on his stomach between his sister and Ian. The trailers began and Mickey had already started to eat a slice of pizza. Ian cracked open a coke and started nibbling on some Fruit by the Foot while Mandy poured an entire packet of gushers into her mouth. Sometime during the second movie trailer, Mickey turned his head to Ian. Ian simply stared back at him as he was oblivious to the fact that Mickey was still trying to intimidate him. Mickey furrowed his eyebrows.

                “You always look like a stupid freckled alien?” Mickey asked. Ian shrugged, quite used to people making fun of his pale freckled skin and curly red hair.

                “My dad said the freckles’ll fade when I get older.”

                “You’ll still look like an alien.”

                “Oh well, some people like aliens,” Ian smiled, and pointed out Mickey’s X-Files movie on the shelf. Mickey scrunched up his still-sore nose and turned back to the movie.

                “Alien,” he muttered.

                “Midget.” Mickey whipped his head back to glare at Ian but Mandy was quick to pull Mickey’s hair.

                “Shut up, both of you! The movie’s about to start!” She practically hissed and the pair of boys stared at her before turning finally to the television, Mickey’s jaw twitching grumpily.

                By the time the end of their second movie came, Mandy was asleep and the boys were practically best friends.

                “Did you see that scene on the beach? It was awesome!” Mickey smacked excitedly at Ian’s arm, and Ian hit his hand away with a laugh.

                “It was gross! Somebody’s head came off!”

                “I know, it was awesome!” Mickey rolled over to lie on his back, looking up at his ceiling, and Ian did the same. Ian could see glowing shapes on the ceiling. He quickly realized that they were glow in the dark stickers of stars. Movement caught Ian’s eye and he looked down to see Mickey’s feet swaying side to side on his heels. The kid was teeming with energy.

                “Wish I could speak German, it sounds so cool,” Ian commented.

                “Isn’t it like the language of love or some shit like that?”

                “No, that’s French. I think.”

                “Whatever, I wanna learn it.” Mickey flashed Ian a grin before looking back up at the bright green glow of the stickers.

                “Bet you could learn some from the subtitles if you listen close enough.”

                Mickey shrugged, moving his hands to rest them behind his head. “I guess.”

                Ian was tired. He was already crashing from all the junk and caffeine they’d had but he could tell Mickey was going to be up for a while by the way his body was constantly moving in some way, his fingers rapidly tapping against his crown and his toes curling and uncurling. Ian wanted to go to sleep and, seeing as how Mickey grabbed a marker and drew all over Mandy’s face the moment she fell asleep, he didn’t want to be Mickey’s next sleeping victim. So, he was going to have to tire him out. Ian rolled over so he was sitting on Mickey’s chest, and held his wrists to keep his hands behind his head. Mickey raised his eyebrows at him in confusion.

                “The hell are you doing?”

                “Let’s wrestle!” Ian grinned wide, and tightened his grip on Mickey’s wrists. Mickey smirked, amused by the idea, and before Ian knew it Mickey had him on his stomach with his wrists pinned behind his back. He pushed Ian’s arms up into the center of his back and Ian let out a pained squeal.

                “Do you give?” Mickey snickered.

                “No!” Ian tried to squirm away but Mickey flipped him so he was on his back with his wrists pinned above him. Big mistake, a mistake Lip made with Ian plenty of times. Since Mickey was a bit smaller than Ian, his maneuver worked even better than with his brother. He planted his feet on the blanket beneath him and arched his back up quickly, pushing his weight (and Mickey’s) onto his head. Ian arched up even more on his toes so that he was on the very top of his head. The pressure was a bit painful, but not as painful as Mickey sliding forward and hitting his face against the hard floor next to Ian’s head. Ian used this chance to grab Mickey’s waist and flip him onto his back. He crossed Mickey’s arms over his chest and held them there, intertwining their legs until Ian was sure Mickey wouldn’t get away. That didn’t stop him from struggling though.

                “Do _you_ give?” Ian teased.

                “Hell no!” Mickey writhed and squirmed under Ian but gave up when it became apparent he wasn’t getting out of Ian’s hold.

                “Fine,” he grumbled. “I give.” Ian beamed and let Mickey up, only to be tackled by the little brunet and pinned once again. The boys laughed and wrestled a few minutes longer until they were lying side by side on their backs, panting and snickering. Mickey breathed heavy and pushed a hand through his hair. He turned his head toward Ian.

                “You want something to sleep in?” He asked and sat up. Ian nodded and Mickey crawled over to his drawers, pulling out an oversized t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. He tossed them to Ian. After changing into his own pajamas (that had little army men all over them which didn’t surprise Ian at all) Mickey grabbed two corners of the blanket that Mandy was sleeping on and started to drag it off toward her own room down the hall. Ian peeked out of the room and saw that Mickey’s mom was just waking up. She yawned as she stood, and saw Ian all changed into Mickey’s pajamas. She looked panicked for a moment, but seemed to calm down. She was probably worried about her husband coming home. She smiled and came up to Ian, patting his hair which was spiked and disheveled from wrestling with Mickey.

                “You sleepin’ over hon?” She slurred as she spoke.

                “Yeah ma, he is,” Mickey piped up from behind Ian as he came back to his room. He looked at Ian and pointed down the hall.

                “I set up the extra mattress next to Mandy’s bed so you don’t have to share hers or sleep on the couch. I’m going to bed,” Mickey yawned and pushed past Ian into his room, shutting the door behind him. Ian was about to head to Mandy’s room to go to sleep but Mandy’s mom furrowed her eyebrows and knelt down to Ian. He tried not to flinch away at the alcohol on her breath.

                “Sweetie, Mandy needs her rest. Why don’t you stay in Mickey’s room? His bed is big enough for both of you.” Her voice was gentle and coaxing, but Ian didn’t understand why he couldn’t sleep in Mandy’s room. She was his best friend. Besides, Ian had never slept away from his siblings and he wanted to be around someone familiar like Mandy. He only met Mickey today. However, he didn’t want to cause Mandy’s mom any trouble so he nodded his head like a good boy, mumbled a sleepy “good night Mrs. Milkovich" and slipped into Mickey’s room. Mickey was pulling himself up into his bed when he looked back and saw Ian shutting the door behind him. He scrunched up his nose.

                “What are you doing here?”

                “Your mom wants me to sleep in here,” Ian said with a shrug. Mickey clicked his tongue in annoyance and made his way under his covers. He shot a glare at Ian.

                “Fine, but you sleep on the floor,” he said, pointing to the blankets and pillows by the bed. Ian looked at the messed up blanket nest on the floor and moved to lie down on it. It was hard.

                “I don’t mind, isn’t the worst place I’ve slept.” Ian rolled onto his back and caught the look Mickey was giving him from the bed.

                “Where was the worst?” He inquired sheepishly. Ian had to think for a minute. Because of Frank and Monica’s instability, he’s had to sleep in plenty of uncomfortable places.

                “A mattress,” he finally said, and went on when Mickey cocked an eyebrow at him. “Under the El. It was all rotted and there were probably tons of bugs and stuff in it, and springs were sticking up into my back, and I had to share it with my older brother and my sisters. It was cold out so I wrapped my jacket around Debbie, she was a baby.” Ian didn’t like to hold on to sad things, so he pushed memories like that to the back of his mind. It was something he learned from Fiona, that if he told himself enough times that it wasn’t a big deal, then it no longer was. Mickey looked on at Ian with a perplexed expression before he lied back on his bed and sighed.

                “You can sleep up here if you want,” he muttered, and became more forceful when Ian grinned and climbed up under the covers. “But if you move too much, hog my covers, or make any noise then I’m kicking you out!” Ian made a cross over his heart and snuggled his face into the pillow, beaming at Mickey.

                “What?”

                “Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

                “Whatever,” Mickey rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the stickers on the ceiling. Ian pulled the covers up to his cheek and curled into a tight ball, letting his eyes fall shut. He was drowsier than he previously thought, and almost fell asleep right away. He would have fallen asleep that quickly, except Mickey opened his mouth again.

                “You know what you should do with that tooth?” Mickey said, grinning.

                “What?” Ian peeked open one eye and mumbled.

                “Drill a little hole into it and put it on a chain. If anyone messes with you, you can show ‘em it and tell ‘em you pulled it out of another jerk’s mouth!” Ian shuddered at the idea.

                “That’s gross. Why don’t you do it?”

                “ _That’s_ gross! Why would I want _your_ tooth?”

                “What, you think my tooth's got cooties or something?”

                “Boys don’t have cooties! Only girls do.”

                “Everyone has cooties, midget!”

                “I’m not a midget, alien!” The boys were in each other’s faces, practically nose to nose, and they were seething. But soon, a grin broke out over Ian’s face and he leaned close to Mickey, who flinched away.

                “What are you doing?” He said, sitting up and moving away from Ian.

                “Your eyes are really blue! Kind of like Lip’s but his are like ice and yours are like water, or the sky, let me see!”

                “Get away from me, weirdo!” Mickey growled but Ian already had the bedside table lamp on and he was leaning close to Mickey again.

                “Can eyes even _get_ that blue? Reminds me of when the beach freezes over there’s still some water and it’s like super clear and blue and the sky—“

                “Okay okay, jeez you’re so gay,” Mickey griped, crossing his arms. Ian furrowed his eyebrows, though he was still fixated on Mickey’s eyes.

                “What’s that mean?” He asked.

                “What, gay? It means you’re being _gay_ ,” Mickey said in annoyance. Ian rolled his eyes.

                “Yeah, but what does gay _mean_?”

                Mickey stared back in Ian’s eyes for a moment and started to chew on the corner of his thumb nail.

                “I dunno. My dad says it all the time. I think it means stupid or something. He always tells my mom that the people in East Lakeview are fags and when I asked her she said it meant the same thing as gay, so I think it means stupid like fag.” Mickey seemed to have no clue what he was talking about, but he spoke with such conviction that Ian just shrugged and pretended to believe him.

                “Now can you turn that off so we can sleep?” Mickey complained, looking pointedly at the lamp.

                “Alright fine, jeez. I was just saying I liked your eyes. You could take a stupid compliment once in a while,” Ian leaned over and switched off the lamp, snuggling up under the blankets again. Mickey curled up into a ball under the covers and buried his face into the pillow.

                “Night, Mickey.”

                “Whatever, alien.” Mickey grumbled drowsily, and drifted off to sleep. Ian only grinned at what seemed to have turned into a term of endearment and let himself fall asleep as well.

                That night, and many nights after, Ian found himself dreaming of the clear sky over a frozen Chicago beach.


	3. Our Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds a hidden treasure at Goodwill, and hurries off to show it to Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm sorry it took me a long time to update. I'll try to update more frequently. Sorry it's so short :(

                Ian knew his ribs were bruised. He also knew that blood was practically spurting out of his nose, that his arm was scraped from being shoved down into the rough asphalt, and that he was going to have to think of a way to explain his injuries to Fiona without telling her he’d been bullied. Again. His best bet would be to tell her he started a fight with someone, but that wouldn’t be a good idea either. Since when was being a kid so complicated? It was only the first day back to school from winter break and already he was being targeted. He curled into a tight ball where he lied on the ground, covering his face with his scraped forearms while the two older kids kicked and stomped on him. Ian felt air being ripped from his lungs as one of the boy’s heels came down especially hard on his side, and he swore he heard a rib crack. The boys were yelling all sorts of names at him, especially the one he remembered Mickey talking about a few days earlier. Faggot. He still didn’t know what it meant, only that Mickey was convinced it meant stupid. He couldn’t breathe, move, or make any noise without searing pain so he did nothing. He lied there motionless while the boys beat on him and he hoped they would get bored and go away.

                “Alien-lookin’ fag!” One of the boys proclaimed, and kicked Ian’s forearms hard enough to knock them away so he could kick his face. Ian’s eyes were closed but he could feel the rush of air as the older boy’s foot came forward to kick his face, but the kick itself never landed. In fact, Ian could hear choking from above him, then the thud of knees hitting the ground. Ian opened his eyes to see Mickey had shown up and pulled the bigger boy down to his knees to choke him from behind, while the other bully looked on in terror. He squeezed his little arms around the bully’s neck, cutting off his air until the kid passed out and Mickey let him fall to the ground. Mickey snarled at the other boy, who promptly took off in the other direction. Once Mickey was satisfied that Ian was safe, he looked over to the boy and held out a hand to him. Ian took it, wincing as he stood and took his first real breath in over a minute which hurt his ribs.

                “Thanks for saving me,” Ian grinned and dusted off his jeans. Mickey adopted his infamous scowl then turned away from Ian.

                “I don’t like people copying me, and that’s what they were doing. Only I can call you an alien.”

                Ian smiled, because he knew that Mickey was just covering for himself. He and Mickey were friends, whether he’d admit it in so many words or not. Ian knew.

                “What are you doing here anyway?” Mickey crossed his arms as he looked over his shoulder at Ian, signaling for him to follow. “You’re supposed to call before you come over, to make sure my dad ain’t home.”

                “Oh, this is your street? I had no idea,” Ian feigned innocence. Mickey flipped him off but led him inside the house, immediately throwing himself down on the couch.

                “Mandy’s not home yet. She has detention today.” Mickey’s brother, Iggy, had been asleep on the other couch but he stirred as Mickey changed his channel.

                “I was watching that!” Iggy whined, sitting up.

                “You were sleeping, jackass.”

                “Well I was watching it before I fell asleep, douchebag.”

                “I’m not here to see Mandy,” Ian chimed in, making the pair of young Milkoviches look at him.

                “Why are you here then?” Mickey furrowed his brow. But he snapped his head to look at Iggy when a pillow was thrown at his head. He death glared his brother and threw the TV remote at him, hitting Iggy square in the chest.

                “I wanted to see you.”

                Mickey seemed almost confused by Ian’s response. He looked at Ian with his mouth agape and his eyebrows knitted in thought.

                “Why?” He finally asked. Ian glanced at Iggy who was looking at him just as expectantly as Mickey was. He was kind of hoping this would be a private talk. So he cocked his head back towards Mickey’s room and started walking there like he’s seen in some movies when people wanted to talk alone. He thought it was such a smooth move, but he didn’t see the Milkovich brothers collectively rolling their eyes at his back. Still, Mickey got up. Iggy tried to get up and follow them but Mickey quickly shoved him back down on the couch. He followed Ian into his room and closed the door behind them.

                “Alright, Bond. What’s with the top secret shit?”

                “Bond?” Ian questioned, eyebrows raised.

                “You’ve never seen James Bond? 007?”

                “What’s double-oh-seven?” Ian frowned and Mickey sighed, grabbing a notepad from his bedside table and scribbling something. “What’s that?”

                “Movies I have to make you watch,” Mickey grumbled, leaving his pen uncapped when he set the notepad down. “Now, what do you want?”

                “To show you what I found at Goodwill!” Ian perked up instantly. He sat down cross-legged on Mickey’s rug, taking a second to wonder about the questionable food stains in it. Mickey sat down beside him and watched him reach into his backpack, which Mickey thought was about half Ian’s size, and pull out quite possibly the largest book he’d ever seen.

                “You wanted to show me a 2,000 page book?” Mickey screwed up his face.

                “It’s not 2,000 pages, drama queen,” Ian rolled his eyes and pointed to the cover of the book. “You said you wanted to learn German, right? Well this can teach us!”

                “That looks like a lot of work just to learn to talk like a Kraut, doesn’t it?” Mickey ran his index finger along the worn binding of the book.

                “Come on, Mickey! _None_ of the other kids speak german. It can be like, our thing.”

                “Our _thing_?” Mickey cocked an eyebrow. “That sounds stupid.”

                “Please Mick?” Ian frowned and clutched the book to his chest, his freckled little spaghetti arms wrapped around it. Mickey turned his nose up at Ian and tried to seem as disinterested as possible.

                “How long would it take to learn?” Mickey asked, sighing dramatically. Ian’s face lit up. He dropped the book down in front of him which, even through the raggedy rug, produced a loud thud. Mickey groaned at the sheer size of it.

                “It says it can help you master the language in a year, but I bet we can do it in half that time if we work together!”

                “Six months, eh?” Mickey thought for a moment. Then he smirked at Ian. “Let’s do it in three.”

                Ian looked at him like he was insane, but nodded wildly. “Three months!” The boys grinned with pure excitement and cracked open the book to begin their three-month journey together. They were good together. Mickey helped Ian with pronunciation, and Ian helped Mickey memorize the conjugations. They had the same conversations back and forth until they perfected them and started making up their own conversations from what they’d learned. They were good together, especially when it was just them alone at Mickey’s house with their book.

                But as all good things, their makeshift classes at Mickey's house came to an abrupt end.


	4. DCFS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family Services come to pick up the Gallaghers, but Ian won't go. Mickey allows him to hide out at his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for all you lovely readers; this chapter has some slurs (namely faggot) and awkward Mickey and Ian discovering what happens when you touch dicks. So if you're offended by young boys accidentally finding out about jerking off (trust me it was incredibly awkward to write I'm not fond of it either) I would suggest skipping this chapter.
> 
> ALSO assume that everything the boys say in italics is what they're saying in German.

                Ian and Mickey had been passing notes back and forth in class all morning. Learning german had been easier than they thought, especially since they tended to be a bit yin and yang with it. Mickey excelled at whatever Ian had trouble with and vice versa, and they got through their lessons quickly by helping each other. By the time the three months passed, they may not have mastered the language but they were pretty fluent in it. They could hold complete conversations with each other and didn't stumble much. They were quite impressed with themselves.  
  
                Mickey felt a fingertip brush the back of his bicep and he reached back, taking the note from Ian's palm. He opened it discreetly in his lap, smiling at Ian's neater cursive handwriting that contrasted with his own rushed scrawling. The boys were in different grades but they were in a gifted math class together that ended up being a composite class because there weren't enough kids to make individual classes for each grade level. Ian hadn't known Mickey was in his class until that day they started to learn german, and after that he immediately moved to sit behind him. The boy who sat there previously was much bigger than Ian and was ready to beat him up for stealing his seat, but when he saw the threatening glare Mickey shot him he moved with his eyes now downcast to where Ian used to sit. He knew better than to mess with even the smallest Milkovich, lest he complained to his older brothers and they came for the kid's head on a platter. Ian had just gotten used to people making fun of his curly orange hair and (as Mickey liked to put it) alien-looking freckles. But after he started hanging out with Mickey regularly, the bullying stopped almost completely. People occasionally made comments, but he never got beat up again. Even those who teased him once in a while eventually stopped too. Everyone was too scared to get on the Milkovich family's bad side. Ian kind of liked it. He'd always loved movies about old time gangsters and the Milkovich family made him feel like he was an adjunct member of a  mobster family. Mickey teased Ian for feeling that way, but he eventually admitted he kind of liked that idea too.  
  
 _Angie keeps looking at you. It's weird._  
  
                Mickey decided to hazard a glance back at Angie Zago who, in fact, was staring at him. Angie was nice, but Mickey didn't like her. At least not the way she liked him. She tried to kiss him the other day and he pushed her off, a little too hard. He felt bad that she fell, but hoped she would at least take the hint and leave him alone. Instead, she insisted he was "playing hard to get" (whatever that meant) and pranced away.  
  
 _She won't leave me alone._  
  
                Mickey waited until the teacher turned around and chucked the note back at Ian. Both boys broke out into hushed laughter when it hit Ian's face though. The teacher heard the sound of her least favorite troublemakers laughing it up and turned around, a loose strand of hair blowing up as she huffed. The boys quieted down immediately, though they had to pucker their lips to keep from laughing which only made them look more suspicious. She rolled her eyes but they fell upon the note Ian clutched in his hand. She cocked an eyebrow at them.  
  
                "Passing notes again, boys? Why don't you get up and read it to the class this time?" She tapped her toe in annoyance and the boys smirked at each other, standing up. Ian opened the note and cleared his throat dramatically.  
  
                " _Dieser lehrer ist so ärgerlich_."  
  
                “ _Ich weiß, ihr den mund halten muss jemand_."  
  
                " _Kann ich heute kommen, um Ihr haus_?"  
  
                "That's enough! Take your seats!" The teacher interrupted the boys who were now laughing along with everyone else in the class. They were just about to sit back down when the door opened. A professional looking woman walked straight toward the teacher and whispered something in her ear. The teacher's eyes softened and she looked at Ian with a piteous expression he knew all too well.  
  
                "Ian, you need to--"  
  
                "No!" Ian shouted, backing up to the wall in the back of the classroom. All eyes were on him, especially Mickey's. Mickey stared at him in confusion, mouthing "What's wrong" to him in german. The woman, who Ian now easily recognised as a social worker, gave him her best motherly smile.  
  
                "Ian, I need you to come with me, okay?"  
  
                "No! No I'm not going!" Ian heard a ringing in his ears as panic ripped through him. The four letters that Ian learned to fear from an early age screamed at him in his mind.  
  
                DCFS.  
  
                Without thinking, Ian turned and ran out the back door of the classroom. There was a security guard outside waiting to escort him out with the social worker but Ian ran between his legs and bolted for the door. The main doors were locked during school hours but the doors to the playground were left unlocked. Ian ran through them, momentarily blinded by the sun shining in his eyes. He ran across the playground with an acute awareness of the security guard at his heels. The monkey bars were right next to the chain link fence and Ian knew that if he could get up it and jump with all his might, he could make it over the fence. He climbed up one end of the monkey bars and ran across the top bars as fast as he could without the risk of falling in hopes that he could gain some speed. He knew he couldn't hesitate or he wouldn't make it so once he reached the last bar, he sunk down until his butt was almost touching the bar between his feet and sprung forward. He just barely made it over the fence, a ragged piece at the top cutting his shin. He had little time to worry about such an insignificant injury and got up the moment he hit the ground. He ran off down the sidewalk. Taking a moment to glance back at the security guard, Ian smirked when he realized he'd lost him. He was still on the playground, now saying something into his walkie talkie.  
  
                Ian couldn't go home. DCFS had probably already collected the rest of his family and home was the first place they'd look for him. His legs were starting to cramp and he wondered how long he had been running. He already passed the park, the high school, and his house. He just kept going farther, tears blurring his vision and his legs beginning to feel like jelly. He only stopped to catch his breath when he found himself at Mickey's house.  
  
                Well, there was nowhere else he could go anyway. So he sat himself down on the porch step, sniffling and wiping away his tears. School would be over soon and Mickey would be home, and Ian knew if Mickey saw him crying he'd never let him live it down.  
  
                Iggy was the first to come home. His eyebrows knitted at the sight of the glum boy and he knelt down before him.  
  
                "What do you want?" He asked gruffly, though Ian didn't detect much venom in his tone.  
  
                "I need to see Mickey..." Ian cleared his throat and tried to look lively. Iggy wasn't buying it.  
  
                "He'll be home soon. Wanna come in?" He stood up and opened the front door, gesturing for Ian to come in. Ian gazed at him in confusion for a moment before he gave a curt nod and got up to go inside. The house was empty save for the young boys, and Iggy went straight for the tv.  
  
                "So what happened? Somebody comin' after you?" He feigned nonchalance but Ian knew he was actually concerned. He wasn't as close to Iggy as he was to Mickey, but they had talked a few times and likes each other just fine. He even looked out for Ian whenever Mickey missed school.  
  
                "DCFS." It was all he had to say. Plenty of kids around the South Side had to deal with DCFS at one time or another and the Milkoviches were no exception. Iggy frowned.  
  
                "They pickin' up your family?"  
  
                Ian nodded. "A lady came to pick me up from school. So I ran."  
  
                "Good for you, man. Social workers are just scummy jerks." Iggy reached over from his spot on the couch to fist-bump Ian who stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Iggy cocked an eyebrow at him.  
  
                "You can wait in Mickey's room if you want. He won't mind."  
  
                Ian nodded and thanked Iggy, who waved his hand dismissively and turned his attention back to the tv. Ian stepped into Mickey's room, looking around at how messy it was. He wasn't really surprised, Mickey's room always looked like a tornado ripped through it. He wouldn't clean it, no matter how many time his mom would ask. Eventually she gave up and stopped asking. He set his backpack down at the foot of Mickey's bed and kicked his shoes off before climbing up into the bed. He had spent many nights in Mickey's bed over the last few months. They'd lie shoulder to shoulder and look up at Mickey's glow in the dark stickers, talking back in forth in german. They talked about school, movies, even made up stories together. They wrestled (Ian let Mickey win most of the time) and joked and talked until they fell asleep due to exhaustion. Mickey's bed had become a comfort to him. It was warm and soft, and smelled of the boy who slept in it every night. Ian found that the warmth and scent of the pillow was making him sleepy.  
  
                Tears fell silently against the pillow as he thought about his family, whether or not they had already been placed in a home or not. He wanted to see Fiona again, wanted her to hug him and tell him they would be going home in a day or two. He wanted Lip to joke around with him and wreak havoc on whoever had the misfortune of fostering them. He wanted to hold Debbie and shush her and calm her so she wouldn't be scared. He wanted to play with Carl until he stopped crying and could sleep.  
  
                He wanted this nightmare to be over.  
  
                When Ian finally woke up it was dark and someone was shaking his arm hurriedly. He let his eyes flutter open despite how heavy they felt. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw Mickey hovering over him.  
  
                "Mickey?" He murmured groggily. "Where've you been?"  
  
                "Looking for you all day, dumbass!" He whispered harshly and punched Ian's arm. Ian was too tired to register the pain much.  
  
 _"Sorry_... _I'm sorry_..." Ian bit violently at his bottom lip to keep it from quivering but it was too late, he was already crying again. He didn't even know why anymore. Mickey sighed and turned on the lamp, making Ian wince at the sudden brightness. He tried hurriedly to hide his tears but Mickey wasn't even looking at him. He'd turned back to his drawer and pulled out pyjamas for Ian to wear as well as some for himself. He gave Ian the clothes and changed into his own.  
  
                "You can stay here tonight, but we have to be quiet. My dad's home." Mickey made sure Ian understood before he shut off the lamp and crawled into bed with him. Ian was still sniffling pathetically beside him and Mickey frowned. He rolled onto his side so he was facing Ian who lied on his back, staring at the stickers on the ceiling.  
  
                " _It's going to be okay_." Mickey whispered. He heard Ian swallow roughly.  
  
                " _Thank you,”_ Ian muttered back. Mickey scooted close to Ian and took his trembling, freckled hand in his own. Ian rolled over, his hand still clutching Mickey's. He felt the young Milkovich press his forehead between his shoulders, and he felt safe. He felt protected. And he felt that no matter what happened with his family, he at least had Mickey Milkovich, and that was enough to allow him to sleep soundly.  
  
                But Ian woke in the middle of the night, feeling something warm and wet drying on the back of his thigh. He had a momentary panic attack and felt the front of his underwear to make sure he hadn't wet Mickey's bed. His underwear was dry though. He furrowed his brow and turned to look at Mickey who's chest was pressed against Ian's back and he realized where the wetness had come from. He snored lightly, completely unaware of Ian's plight. Ian didn't want to embarrass him, but he also didn't want to sleep in the other kid's pee, so he shook him until he woke up.  
  
                "Mickey, I think you peed the bed," he whispered, trying to sound as gentle as possible. Ian turned on Mickey's lamp and looked back to see the boy now wide awake, staring at him utterly mortified. Ian's eyes wandered down and he saw that the young Milkovich had indeed wet himself, but it didn't look like urine. Mickey sat up, his face all shades of red.  
  
                "Sorry, I haven't peed the bed since I was like, six.."  
  
                "I don't think that's pee," Ian pointed out. It was clear, and too thick to be urine. Mickey frowned and reached out to touch it, grimacing at its stickiness.  
  
                "Yeah, definitely not pee. But still gross."  
  
                "What is it?"  
  
                "No idea," Mickey shrugged. "But it feels really weird in my underwear. It's slimy, and gross."  
  
                "Change then," Ian said, pulling off the shirt he borrowed from Mickey and using it to clean the liquid from the bed sheet and his thigh.  
  
                "Gross, you got it on me," Ian laughed a little but stopped when he looked up and saw Mickey kicking his underwear off the bed in disgust. Ian had only ever seen his own body naked, and seeing Mickey's was strange. He'd seen his penis stiff and red the way Mickey's was now, his mom told him once a few months ago that it was called an erection, but he'd never seen the whitish clear liquid that was dripping out of Mickey's.  
  
                "What is that?" Ian asked, confused. Mickey shrugged, looking down at himself with a grimace.  
  
                "I dunno, just get it the hell off me," he whispered harshly.  
  
                "I don't wanna touch it!" Ian screwed up his face and Mickey shushed him and smacked his arm for being too loud.  
  
                "Get this off me, Gallagher," he threatened through gritted teeth.  
  
                "Fine!" Ian shout-whispered. He used the already soiled shirt in his hands to reach out and wipe Mickey clean. The boy jerked his hips up against the fabric involuntarily and let out a soft hiss.  
  
                "What? Does it hurt?" Ian frowned, wary of the mystery liquid.  
  
                "N-no..." Mickey shook his head, looking away from Ian.  
  
                "Then what?"  
  
                "Nothing! Just get it off!"  
  
                "Fine!" Ian scowled and began cleaning Mickey off again, but the boy made a strangled noise in his throat.  
  
                "Mickey, what is it?" The redhead was more annoyed now than concerned.  
  
                "I don't know..." Mickey whispered, looking down at his still messy crotch. "It feels... Nice."  
  
                "Nice? What feels nice?"  
  
                "What you're doing. It feels nice..."  
  
                "I'm just getting this stuff off you," Ian shrugged.  
  
                "Can you just... Without the shirt?"  
  
                "What are you babbling about?" Ian asked, starting to get frustrated. Mickey grabbed the shirt out of Ian's hand and tossed it to the floor with his underwear. Then he grabbed Ian's hand and made him wrap it around his erection.  
  
                "Mickey, I said I didn't want to touch it!" Ian whined at the stickiness now on his hand but Mickey scowled.  
  
                "It's not that bad, don't be such a girl. Just.. Do what you were doing with the shirt, but with your hand."  
  
                "My mom said I'm not supposed to touch under someone's underwear," Ian frowned, though he never understood why his mother had told him that. It didn't seem to be anything bad.  
  
                "Well, I'm asking you to. You always do what your mom tells you?" Mickey challenged. Ian scowled and wrapped his fingers firmly around Mickey's shaft, surprising him when he started moving his hand up and down quickly. The sticky liquid made it easy for Ian. He became fascinated by Mickey just then. Mickey was writhing and making little noises that Ian just couldn't categorize. He looked really happy. But he suddenly looked confused and looked at Ian in panic, trying to get his words out quickly but it was too late. More of the whitish liquid came spurting out, and Ian could feel Mickey throb and tighten in his hand.  
  
                "Gross!" Ian frowned, as most of Mickey's mess, whatever it was, ended up on his thigh and hand. He looked at Mickey who looked like he was on another planet, his lazy smile was so far away. He was panting and sweating and he met Ian's eyes.  
  
                "I don't know what that was, but it felt really good. Really really good."  
  
                Ian saw how happy Mickey looked. If he had to describe him right then in one word, it would be "glowing". His cheeks were a warm pink and his lips were red and wet from biting them. He wondered with amusement if Mickey would glow like the stickers on his ceiling if Ian turned out the light. Ian couldn't help but wonder...  
  
                "Can you do it to me?" Ian asked shyly, wiping his hand on his underwear.  
  
                "I thought your mom said we shouldn't," Mickey teased with a mischievous little smirk.  
  
                "Mickey!" Ian started, his face red with annoyance, but Mickey held his hands up. "If you really want me to, I'll do it." Ian's grin lit up and he adjusted to pull his underwear off. Mickey frowned when he saw Ian's erection. Or lack thereof.  
  
                "You're all soft, and you're still bigger than me. That's not fair, why are you always bigger than me!" Mickey whined, punching Ian's arm.  
  
                Ian could only shrug and rub his now sore arm. "You'll grow up. Now come on, please do it? I wanna know what it felt like," he pleaded. Mickey nodded and told him to be patient, looking down at him.  
  
                "Think it'll get hard if I touch it?" Mickey asked, quirking an eyebrow. He reached out and grabbed Ian's penis, making the redhead shiver. It twitched and hardened fast in Mickey's hand. Ian's cheeks grew hot and he looked at the brunet through half lidded eyes as he started to slowly move his hand up and down the way Ian had done to him.  
  
                "Wh-why does it..." Ian tried to form words but Mickey's hand was warm and soft, the feeling alone had him too distracted to think.  
  
                "Feels awesome, right?" Mickey grinned but Ian didn't see it, his eyes had drifted shut. He felt a pressure building in his stomach and he tried to push Mickey's hand away.  
  
                "It feels like I'm gonna pee, stop!" Ian whined. Mickey did stop, but not because Ian had told him to. The silence that filled the room terrified Ian and he didn't know why. Until he opened his eyes. His back had been to the door and he could see Mickey looking past him with the same expression Ian most likely held. Unnamed fear. Ian turned his head and saw Mickey's dad standing in the doorway, mouth agape. Before Ian knew what was going on, Mickey's dad gripped his hair and started dragging him off the bed. Mickey was screaming and begging his dad to stop, as well as calling to his mother across the house for help. She didn't come, of course. She was scared of her husband, and didn't want to get in the middle of whatever was happening. Ian felt his body dragging along Mickey's floor as Terry brought him outside, throwing him out into the spring night.  
  
                "No son of mine is going to be some fairy boy-fucking faggot!" He screamed violently and slammed the door in Ian's face. Ian sat dumbstruck and naked on the Milkovich porch, hugging himself tightly. He got up and tried the door, but Mickey's dad already locked it. He scurried around to the side of the house where Mickey's window was and he cursed lowly because the curtains were drawn. But he could hear Mickey's dad still screaming, and Mickey crying. Ian never thought Mickey Milkovich would ever cry. He made other kids cry. And now Ian was starting to see why.  
  
                He listened at the window for a while, listened to the screaming and the thuds coming from Mickey's room that created a sick feeling in his stomach. Finally the yelling stopped. He could hear Mickey sniffling inside, and he figured he must be close to the window. So Ian knocked on it, only loud enough for Mickey to hear. Mickey peeked through the curtains. Ian could only see his right eye and the corner of his trembling mouth, but he could see the terror Mickey felt. His eye was bloodshot and wide, the blue of his eye intensifying as tears spilled forth. He looked at Ian for several moments before closing the curtain again. Ian frowned and knocked. He knocked again. He beat on the window until he felt like the sickness in his gut would swallow him whole. But Mickey never came back to the window. The light from the lamp coming through the curtains was shut off, and Mickey was still crying inside. Ian looked down in shame at his naked, trembling body, and made his way back to the front porch.  
  
                He didn't go up the porch. Instead, Ian crawled into the space under the porch, hiding himself until he could come out when Mickey's dad left in the morning. Then he could try to ask Mickey for some clothes. But then he'd have to find somewhere else to hide. It's not like he could go home, what with his family being taken by DCFS. Ian rubbed at the sore spot on the top of his head where Mickey's dad had dragged him by the hair, and blood came away on his finger tips.  
  
                That was it. Ian began to cry, holding his clean hand over his mouth to keep himself from sobbing too loud. But his sobs still wracked his small body. He couldn't stop thinking of the way Mickey closed the curtains on him. His best friend hated him now. All because of his father.  
  
                Ian knew what fucking was. His dad had drunkenly given him and Lip the "birds and the bees" talk one night. So he knew it was how men and women made babies when they loved each other. But he didn't understand what Mickey's dad had meant by "boy-fucking". Boys couldn't make babies together, at least that's what his dad had told him. But if boys could fuck, did that mean they could love each other? Ian loved Mickey, he was sure of that, but did that mean that they could fuck when they were older? That they were _supposed_ to? Ian's head was swarming with questions that only added to his distress, tears falling endlessly to the wooden planks he laid his head on. And worst of all, no one was around to answer his question. Not his parents, not even Fiona. He was alone under the rotting wooden porch that belonged to his (probably ex) best friend.  
  
                The only thing he didn't need to ask now was what faggot meant. From what Mickey's dad had said, he already figured out that it meant a boy who fucks boys, if that is possible. But he didn't say it like it was a good thing, or even a normal thing. He said it like it was the worst possible thing in the world. Like he was ashamed of Mickey. Pain and sadness for Mickey roiled in Ian's stomach. Mickey deserved a better father. Ian didn't know if being a faggot was actually a bad thing or if Mickey's dad was just a bad person, but he knew that dads should love their sons no matter what. Ian knew his dad loved him. It was the stuff he drank and the pills he took that made it seem like he didn't love his kids. But sometimes he would stop drinking, stop taking pills, and he would be amazing. He even _told_ Ian once that he loved him.  
  
                Ian wondered sadly if Mickey's dad ever told his sons he loved them.


	5. Ian's Foster Mommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey's mother finds out about the Gallaghers' situation with DCFS and does what she can to help Ian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god I'm sorry this took so long. I had all four of my wisdom teeth extracted and I was in a lot of pain plus school started recently and I've been swamped with work. I promise I'll do better with updating <3 this chapter is meh I'm sorry I'm wayyy too sleepy to edit right now, maybe I'll edit it tomorrow.

                Ian chastised himself for not thinking ahead. For some stupid reason, he hoped Mickey would answer the door. Instead, the blushing boy found himself being ushered into the house by Mickey’s mom. She left Ian in his nakedness standing in the living room while she grabbed his clothes from Mickey’s room and brought them out to him. She offered to give him a ride to school but he shook his head violently and pleaded with her not to. He explained the situation with DCFS and she sighed.

                “Monica hasn’t shown up?” She asked as she lit up a cigarette. Ian used to wrinkle his nose at people smoking near him, but he was used to it now.

                “No ma’am.”

                “God, please don’t call me ma’am,” she laughed, and Ian liked her laughter. It reminded him of Fiona’s, only more mature and a little strained from chain-smoking. “Or Mrs. Milkovich. You can call me Darla.” Darla’s eyes were clearer than usual. She obviously hadn’t started to drink yet, but her flower patterned metal flask sat on the counter beside a half-empty bottle of vodka. Ian agreed to call her Darla with a sheepish smile and she returned it with a warming grin, much like Mickey’s. Ian’s smile faltered as he thought of what Darla must think of what happened the previous night.

                “I’m sorry,” Ian murmured, looking down at his feet. Darla frowned.

                “For what, sweetie?”

                “Last night. I didn’t know we were doing anything wrong, we just—“

                “You didn’t.” Darla put a hand on Ian’s back and made him sit at the table. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Mickey’s dad told me what happened, he just overreacted. You guys shouldn’t have been doing it, but it wasn’t wrong.” She sat down in the seat in front of Ian and smiled. Ian’s head was still swimming with questions. His mother wasn’t around to answer them, and neither was Fiona. But Mickey’s mother…

                “Boys can’t fuck boys, can they?” If Darla had been drinking, she’d likely have choked to death at the seven-year-old’s words. Her baby-blue eyes widened impossibly and her jaw hung open.

                “Um… Well, they can, but…” Darla stammered and stuttered, searching for the right words. She finally sighed and leaned back in her chair.

                “Look, sweetie. Sometimes… Boys can like each other too, when they’re older, and they can… fuck.” She looked as perplexed as Ian felt. A crease in her forehead made Ian furrow his eyebrows.

                “But they can’t make babies, and I thought that’s why people did it? If they can’t make babies, what’s the point?”

                “It’s not always to have kids, some people just like to. Especially with someone they love.”

                “Like how I love Mickey?” Darla shook her head as she was finally at a loss for words. She had nothing to say to the confused boy sitting before her whose gangly legs swung over the edge of his chair so innocently. It was a while before Ian heard movement from Mickey’s room. The kids were supposed to be at school, had Mickey stayed home? Darla’s concerned glance at Mickey’s closed door answered his thoughts.

                “Ian, you don’t have to worry about this for… a _while_. Okay? Don’t let it confuse you right now.” She patted his knee and smiled as she stood, and Ian knew that was the end of that conversation. He slid off the chair and peeked around the corner to see if Mickey had emerged from his bedroom, but no such luck.

                “Why don’t you go hang out with Mickey, since you’re not going to school? I’ll make you guys some breakfast.” Darla pulled some pancake mix out of the cabinet, but not before she filled up her flask with the vodka and mixed it with some orange juice. Ian nodded shyly and headed for Mickey’s door. He grabbed the doorknob but stopped himself.

                “Darla?” He mumbled, having one more question before he let the subject go.

                “Yes honey?” She raised her eyebrows at Ian and her voice cracked at the start of her sentence as she swallowed down more of her drink.

                “If there’s nothing wrong with what Mickey and me were doing, why was Mr. Milkovich so mad?” Had the house not been so quiet, Darla would barely have heard the soft spoken question.

                “Mickey’s dad is always mad, but it’s alright. You let me handle him.”

                Ian finally nodded, feeling a little relieved. Darla’s answers weren’t exactly what he was looking for, but for now it would do. At least she tried, which is more than he could say for his own mother. He pushed open Mickey’s door slowly. A part of him was terrified that his best friend would hate him, and another part of him was worried Mickey’s dad would be upset if he knew he was still friends with Mickey. But no part of him was prepared for the sight of the boy lying on his side facing the wall his bed was set against, looking battered and deflated.

                “Mickey?” He stepped closer to Mickey, who didn’t respond at all. “ _Are you okay_? Mickey?” He saw a hand-shaped bruise wrapping around his thin arm. Mickey looked fragile and Ian didn’t like it.

                “Mickey, _what’s wrong_?” Ian frowned and reached out for Mickey’s shoulder.

                “Go away,” Mickey replied tiredly. He also replied in English, which worried Ian. They almost always spoke German when it was just the two of them.

                “ _Please_?”

                “Stop talking like a fucking kraut, Gallagher. Go away.”

                “No.” Ian stood his ground, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. He refused to lose his best friend.

                But then Mickey rolled over.

                “We can’t hang out anymore,” he spat. His lip was split and his left eyelid was purple and swollen to the point where his eye was no longer visible. He was also pretty sure Mickey’s nose hadn’t been that crooked the night before. Ian didn’t have to ask to know how it happened.

                “Your mom said she’d talk to your dad, so we could stay frie—“

                “Don’t you get it?” Mickey hissed, grabbing his pillow and hitting Ian with it so hard that he knocked the child on his back. “If we don’t stop hanging out, my dad’s gonna do this to you too!” He gestured to his battered face. Ian swallowed hard and sat up, looking up at Mickey through wet eyelashes.   

                “Mickey, _you’re my best friend, please don’t leave me alone.”_

                Mickey groaned pathetically and laid his head down on his mattress where his pillow had been, curling up tight. “Go away.”

                If Ian had learned anything from his siblings, it was that being a Gallagher meant you didn’t back down. Fiona didn’t back down when the girls at school spread rumors about her. Lip didn’t back down when their little league coach tried to kick him off the team. And now Ian wasn’t going to back down from Mickey Milkovich. Ian snatched Mickey’s blanket and ripped it from his body. The older boy sat up quickly and turned to glare at him, but was met with Ian’s own intense stare.

                “No. I’m not going away, and you can’t make me. You’re mom’s going to talk to your dad, and we’re _staying_ friends!” Ian crossed his arms defiantly and watched as Mickey’s eyes softened. Mickey always respected Ian more when he stood up for himself.

                “Ian—“

                “ _No_.” Ian said simply. Mickey knew Ian wouldn’t budge, even if he was mean to him. The blue-eyed boy sighed and looked down pitifully.

                “ _You’re going to get both of us in trouble.”_ He said, resignation in his voice. Ian shrugged.

                “ _I wouldn’t mind getting in trouble. With you.”_ Mickey rolled his eyes at Ian’s affectionate words and though Ian kept it to himself to avoid embarrassing him, he was sure he saw the other boy blush.

                “ _Whatever…”_ Ian was about to get up and join Mickey in bed but the voice of Darla cut across the house.

                “Mickey, Ian, breakfast!”

                “Mom made _breakfast_?!” Mickey asked in surprise. His eyebrows furrowed worriedly and he climbed out of bed, trudging past Ian to the hallway. “Mom must wanna ‘talk’ about something.” Ian laughed shortly at Mickey’s pessimistic thoughts. He followed Mickey to the kitchen where Darla had set three big plates of banana pancakes, bacon and tall glasses of chocolate milk. There was no milk for her, only her flask which she still held gingerly in her hand. She rushed the boys into their seats with a smile. Mickey looked confused but Ian was incredibly excited. He loved pancakes and rarely got to eat them. Darla sat at the head of the table where Ian thought her husband would sit, but she looked bubblier than he’d ever seen her.

                “Jesus Christ, ma. What is it?” Mickey finally questioned, unable to take the torture of his mother’s smiley silence.

                “I called DCFS. They said, since I’m a licensed foster parent, we could foster Ian until his parents can fix all this. I just have to go sign some stuff and he can stay.” Ian felt happiness surging through his body, he could have hugged Darla right there. He elected to stay in his seat and bounce up and down.

                “What about dad?” Mickey asked, almost reflexively.

                “Don’t worry about your father,” Darla waved her hand in optimistic dismissal. “We’ll have to set up the top part of Mickey’s bed though. Your father won’t want you sharing a bed.”

                “The top part?” Ian wondered, his words muffled by a mouthful of pancakes.

                “I used to have a bunk bed for foster kids. It was just for some extra money every month,” Mickey explained. He downed his chocolate milk and glared at Ian pointedly. “I get the top one.” Ian rolled his eyes and tossed a slice of bacon at the grumpy boy.

                “You can have it.” Mickey grinned at that and launched the piece of bacon back at Ian who ate it happily. He stopped though, and a frown spread across his face as he looked at Darla. He didn’t bother asking her about his family. He knew it was likely that Debbie and Carl had already been placed; parents always want babies. Lip and Fiona might have been at a shelter somewhere, or perhaps they had been placed as well. Either way, he hated thinking of his family being apart, living with strangers while their mom and dad were god knows where. He wanted to be there for him. But most of all, he wanted them to be there for him. Staying with Mickey was great and all, but there’s nothing like family at the end of a bad day and unfortunately, he wouldn’t have a family to cry to on this particularly _bad_ day. He’d have to tough it out for a few days and hope his parents would get everything fixed. In the meantime however, he was perfectly alright with having Darla as his foster mom. She treated him more like her son than his own mother did. In fact there were several occasions where he almost called Darla "mommy".

                “Finish your breakfast, Ian,” Darla said with a wary smile. Ian had realized in that instant that he was blankly staring at his plate with a look that seemed to worry Darla. He shook himself out of his thoughts and finished his dinner. Darla argues on the phone with her husband for several minutes after that before she hung up with a forced, cheery smile. Terry had reluctantly agreed to let Ian stay and said he would be home soon to set up the bunk bed, and the boys were giddy with excitement. Though of course Ian made a mental note to extra well behaved around Mickey’s dad. He already had a chunk of hair missing from his scalp; he didn’t need a missing limb to match. Darla dragged Ian and Mickey with her to DCFS. Ian hung back, away from the social worker he ran from at school the other day, while Darla properly took him into her care. Mickey stayed close to Ian and shot the social worker a menacing look when she tried to approach Ian too closely. She decided on putting a few feet’s distance between herself and the seemingly rabies-ridden boy. He certainly looked wild enough. Once everything was settled, they stopped at the Gallagher’s house to pick up some of Ian’s things. He only took a bag of clothes and the enormous plush bull that Lip stole for him once at a carnival. It was almost bigger than his body and he had to carry it in his arms the whole way back to Mickey’s house.

                When they did get home (Ian’s temporary home, at least) Terry was loading up his truck and driving away. Darla watched him depart with such disdain that Ian wanted to hold her hand and make her feel better for whatever reason she hates him so much. But one look at Mickey’s injuries and how he winced every time he blinked, Ian was starting to hate Terry too. They headed inside to find the top bunk of Mickey’s bed already set up. Mickey immediately dove for the top, yelling “mine!” when he was up the small ladder. Ian snickered at Mickey’s possessiveness and put his plush on his bed then set the bag of clothes down on the floor. Mickey hopped off the top bed and dashed for the living room, groaning when he found his sister had beaten him there and put on some girly cartoon. Ian stayed in Mickey’s room. He curled up on the bed, clutching his plush bull close to him like it was keeping him alive. It smelled like home. If he closed his eyes and blocked out the sound of Mickey and Mandy battling for the tv remote, he could pretend he actually was home. He could imagine the sounds of Carl’s colicky cries,  Debbie crawling around and grabbing at people’s legs, Lip challenging him to toss paper towel pieces into their father’s drooling mouth while he was asleep which was a sort of Gallagher sport they had invented. And he could imagine Fiona holding him when he was upset, combing through his unruly red curls with her fingertips and calming him down.

                This alternate reality where he was with his family was interrupted by Mickey throwing a shoe at him.

                “ _Mandy’s hogging the tv_. _What are you doing?_ ” Ian quickly sat up, brushing away the small tears he hadn’t realized were there, and smiled wide at Mickey. He didn’t want Mickey to know that he was a spineless, scared little kid.

                “ _We can use your tv and watch a movie. How about we watch that Jim Bond thing you wanted me to see_?”       

                “ ** _James_** _Bond,”_ Mickey replied with a world-class eye roll. Nevertheless, he ran out into the living room and hijacked their beat-up old vcr. He plugged it in to his tv and grabbed a movie called “Goldeneye” from his shelf. Once the movie began, the boys settled to lie down on the rug.

                The movie was barely halfway done before the boys had become completely distracted with their teasing and wrestling. Ian pinned Mickey to the rug twice, and let himself be pinned three times. They only stopped when Darla came in to bring them dinner at which point they noticed the movie had ended. They ate their dinner together as they talked excitedly, occasionally being bothered by one of Mickey’s brothers charging in to use the bathroom. However they were too deep into their conversations to truly acknowledge any interruptions. It wasn’t long before they were practically falling asleep on each other, mumbling incoherent German and English to each other as their previously dancing flames of energy and excitement died down. They finally decided to go to bed sometime later. The tiredly crawled into their beds, Mickey on top and Ian on the bottom, leaving their dirty dinner plates on the desk.

                Ian felt horribly lonely that night. For as long as he could remember he’d been sharing a bed with _someone_. Lip, his mother, Mickey, sometimes Fiona. His family was scattered and he had become a littered accessory at the Milkovich house, holding onto his stuffed animal for dear life. It was about midnight when he heard the front door opening and rummaging in the kitchen, and he assumed Mickey’s dad was home. He wanted to crawl up the ladder and curl up next to Mickey, but he knew if he got caught Terry would get angry again and that was not an option. He buried his face into the stuffed animal’s fur that was gentle against his cheek. Then, the perfect idea struck him.

                Ian slowly slipped out of bed and carefully adjusted the stuffed bull so its head was resting on the pillow, then pulled the blankets up over it. He stepped back to admire his masterpiece, then looked up at the top bed. There was a long wooden plank along the edge to keep the occupant of the bed from falling off, which meant the only visible part of Mickey’s body was his feet as they weren’t obscured by the open space for the ladder. Ian nimbly climbed up the ladder without making a sound and crawled up next to Mickey. Mickey had already fallen asleep, so Ian curled up behind him, resting his forehead against the sleeping boy’s back. Mickey radiated warmth that struck him to his core. All the tenseness in his muscles melted away, and he felt as though the mattress sunk even more beneath him as he relaxed. He smiled softly to himself in the darkness and shut his eyes, allowing his drowse to overcome him. Just before he fell asleep he heard Mickey sleepily mumble, “ _This is the last time you sleep in my bed, alien."_


	6. FUCK U-UP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys receive some terrible news, and Mickey shuts down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is implied hard drug use in this chapter so if that kind of thing is triggering, skip the "Something had been very wrong with Darla" paragraph and the two paragraphs after it, or just be very careful. Also, a (sort of canonical) character death is in this chapter. And I hope I made it obvious but this is after a three year time skip.

                 Ian woke up not only with a start, but with a bruised face and the mother of all headaches as well. The previous day had been Mickey’s 12th birthday and if Ian was being honest, he didn’t remember much of it. He remembered Fiona walking him to the Milkovich house (family services was keeping their eyes on the Gallaghers since the last time they got pulled so the kids refrained from going anywhere alone) and Mickey pulling out a flask that was to be handed between the two of them. After that, he had no idea what had happened. Somehow, the wooden plank that was supposed to keep the person sleeping in the top bunk from falling was broken into several pieces. Hence the reason Ian had fallen from the top bunk when he rolled off of Mickey. He’d been lying halfway on the other boy’s back when the birthday boy woke up and complained for Ian to get off him. Then Ian’s face became best friends with the floor. On top of that, he managed to miss the rug completely and land on the nice, hard wood floor. Mickey peeked over the edge of the bed. His hair was messy and greasy, and his face was filled with the pain he must have felt from his headache.

                “Dumbass University called. You got a full-ride scholarship.”

                “ _Shut up,”_ Ian rolled his eyes and tried to sit up. His muscles were sore and he felt sick. “ _What happened last night?”_

                “ _No idea,”_ Mickey shrugged. He let out a yawn so intense that Ian was reminded of the motions of a roaring lion. After looking around the room, as if taking inventory of the damage done, Mickey rubbed his face and looked pointedly at the broken pieces of wood around Ian on the floor.

                “ _The fuck happened to the safety thing_?”

                Ian shrugged and finally stood up, climbing up the ladder so he could talk to Mickey properly. He did his best to ignore the raging headache and roiling stomach that plagued him.

                “ _Does this mean we can’t share the top bunk anymore_?” Ian tried to hide the disappointment in his tone, but Mickey always saw through him.

                “ _We shouldn’t be sharing a bed anyway._ ”

                “ _Why not_?” Ian frowned and crawled over to sit next to Mickey. Mickey scoffed.

                “ _I’m 12 now, I can’t share a bed with a baby,"_ he teased. Ian’s cheeks flared up in aggravation and he shoved Mickey’s shoulder.

                “I’m not a baby. I’m gonna be 10 in a week, you’re not that much older than me!” Ian had been so annoyed that he responded in English, and Mickey raised his eyebrows amusedly.

                “ _Relax, E.T. Look, the safety thing is broken. We can’t do it anymore anyway_.”

                “ _You always say that,”_ said Ian with a smirk. “ _Every time I get into bed, you say ‘this is the last time, Gallagher’ and it never is.”_

                “ _Well, we’re big kids now. We can’t share the bunk bed forever, ya know.”_

_“Don’t be such a joy killer Mickey!”_

_“You just don’t like sleeping alone. You better get used to it.”_ Mickey shimmied out of the bed and dropped down from the edge, narrowly missing some splinters littering the floor. He changed into some clothes he found in the corner of the room and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Ian laughed out loud when he went to find some clothes of his own and he realized Mickey had accidentally taken Ian’s clothes. He changed into some of Mickey’s clothes and decided to nix the idea of using the bathroom until Mickey was done. He got fussy when people crowded the bathroom. Ian headed straight for the kitchen where all the other Milkovich siblings were already heading out the door to go to school. If Ian went with them right now, he’d be able to take the bus. But Mickey was still in the bathroom, so he decided to just wait and walk with his friend to school.

                Something had been very wrong with Darla lately. She drank twice as much as she used to, and her pill-popping had progressed towards dangerous territory. He remembered seeing the big rubber bands laying around on the coffee table. They were like the rubber bands they used at the clinic when they took blood. Or like the rubber bands he saw around Monica’s arm once when she fell asleep in the van. Today, she was horribly strung out. She raced around the kitchen doing nothing in particular, scratching at the inside of her arm until Ian was scared she would bleed. She continued to do this until her husband left, which was when she retreated to the living room to get the rubber band from the coffee table. Mickey came out then with his army rucksack he used for school hanging off one shoulder. When he turned his head and saw his mother picking up the rubber band, his face dropped to the saddest expression Ian had ever seen. He seemed at war with himself for a moment while he stared at his mother and she stared back like a deer caught in the headlights.

                “I wish you’d stop that, ma,” Mickey said earnestly. It was more like a desperate plea if Ian had ever heard one. Darla stared quietly at her son for several moments before she slowly put down the rubber band. It took her a few seconds to let it go, as if she’d forgotten how to open her fist.

                “Right. You’re right Mickey, sorry.” Darla smiled apologetically, beautifully. Ian wondered sadly what she might have looked like before she met Terry Milkovich; what she’d look like now if she never got stuck with him. He did it before he could stop himself. He dropped the jacket he held balled up in his fist and ran over to Mickey’s mother, wrapping his gangly arms around her waist. Darla had become a mother to him, and Ian couldn’t stand to see her looking so wrecked. Mickey watched them awkwardly for a few moments before he seemingly decided, fuck it, and ran up to hug his mother. Neither boy could really tell what had prompted them to do it, because they really didn’t know. They just wanted to… fix her. She petted the boys’ heads with her shaking hands, and then ended their embrace prematurely.

                “You boys want a ride to school?”

                Ian knew there was no reason to cry, yet tears filled up his eyes as he and Mickey simultaneously shook their heads. Before long, they were hurrying out the door in a futile attempt to make it to school on time. They had different classes now, but that didn’t stop them from sneaking into each other’s classes. During Ian’s class’s indoor recess, Mickey had snuck in and pulled Ian off to the corner of the room to talk. At first, there wasn’t much talking at all. Neither really knew what to say about that morning.

                “ _Why does your mom stay with your dad?”_ Ian finally asked, somewhat shyly. Mickey shrugged.

                “ _I don’t know. I guess she’s scared.”_

_“Scared of your dad?”_

_“Scared of what he’ll do if she leaves.”_ Mickey frowned, staring down at his hands. Mickey, like most Milkoviches, was terrified of his dad. And much like most Milkoviches, he couldn’t understand how such a horrible man ended up with such a sweet wife. A drunk junkie, maybe. But she loved her kids.

                “ _Do you wanna help me with something?”_ Mickey suddenly changed the subject, a bright grin on his face. Ian was always skeptical when Mickey wanted his help. It nearly always involved some sort of destruction or vandalism.

                “ _With what_?” Ian asked with great caution. Mickey scoffed as if Ian shouldn’t have been worried.

                “ _My brother gave me a home tattoo kit yesterday! I wanted to do a tattoo across my knuckles, but I’m right handed. I just need you to help me_.”

                “ _A tattoo_?” Ian’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “ _Right now_?” His eyes searched for the clock and he was disappointed to see that there was plenty of time left in recess and the teacher wasn’t paying attention.

                “ _Mick, I don’t know how to do a tattoo!”_ Ian griped. Mickey smacked his shoulder and told him to keep it down.

                “ _It’s easy. You just get the needle, dip it into the bottle of ink, and press it into my skin until you feel it stick,_ ” Mickey explained it like it was no big deal, but Ian’s heart was beating wildly against his chest. He didn’t want to fuck up the tattoo, which would then be permanently on Mickey’s skin, and get Mickey angry at him. But at this point it seemed Mickey would be angry with him if he didn’t do it. So reluctantly, Ian finally agreed. They made sure the teacher wasn’t watching them before Mickey pulled the kit out of his rucksack and instructed Ian further on what to do while he wrote the words he wanted tattooed on his knuckles. When Ian saw the finished product in pen on Mickey’s knuckles, he had to laugh.

                “Fuck u-up? _Really_?” Ian said but Mickey grinned.

                “ _Yeah, it’ll be awesome. Just do it already_!”

                Ian spent the following twenty minutes of recess working on writing the word “fuck” across the knuckles on Mickey’s right hand. He had to be honest, holding Mickey’s hand the way he was made him feel a lot better about permanently marking his best friend’s skin forever. The warmth of Mickey’s hand in his was a constant reminder and comfort that Mickey was always going to be around. And as stupid as the tattoo was, Ian liked it on Mickey. He was sure no one else in the world could pull it off except Mickey. Ian had just finished the “C” when the door to the classroom opened and a man went to whisper something to the teacher. The teacher nodded slowly and, with a sad expression, stood to announce that Ian Gallagher had to go to the office, as well as Mickey Milkovich if he was there. It was all so painfully familiar, that Ian was already prepared to take off running. But he noticed that there was no social worker there. Only the man who had come in the class, and he was a police officer. He wore the same sad look the teacher did, and Ian felt confused. He found himself staring at the inflamed, reddened skin around the letters on Mickey’s fingers. Mickey was clearly curious about what was going on because he put the tattoo kit away and hauled Ian up off the floor with him to go to the front of the class. The officer lead them out into the hall where he sat the boys on the bench in front of the principal’s office.

                “Hey boys, you havin’ a fun recess?”

                Ian could tell this officer was trying too hard to be nice. Which meant something was seriously wrong. The officer cast a quick glance at Mickey’s fresh tattoo and furrowed his brow before making eye contact with him.

                “Look, your dad’s signing you guys out early, so you can go home. You got everything?” The boys double checked their stuff and when the officer was satisfied that they were alright, he went to leave. But Mickey grabbed a hold of his sleeve.

                “What’s going on?”

                The officer didn’t seem like he had prepared himself to answer Mickey’s question. He simply shook his head wordlessly and walked away. Ian and Mickey shared a nervous glance. Mickey was still clutching Ian’s arm. It was only a few minutes before Terry stepped out of the office, motioning for the boys to follow him. He looked sober for the first time in his life. He also looked old. He looked as though he’d aged twenty years since the last time Ian saw him just earlier that morning. At some point on the way to Terry’s truck, Mickey tried to ask what was happening. Terry gave no explanation. He only struck Mickey so hard that he stumbled and fell against a car, sounding the alarm. Ian kept his mouth shut tight but helped Mickey up and walked him protectively to Terry’s truck. Normally if they were in Terry’s truck, Mickey would sit in the middle seat between Ian and Terry. But this time, Ian didn’t let him. He took the risk and sat between Terry and Mickey, in the hopes that Terry wouldn’t hit Mickey again. The drive home was silent and tense.

                When they got back to Mickey’s house, everything made sense. The house was dark and quiet. All the kids were home already, sitting around the living room with solemn faces. Ian couldn’t look at them because among them was Mandy, whose face was cut up and bruised and she had a broken arm. Ian wanted so badly to ask what happened, but he knew better than to ask. When Iggy caught sight of Ian and Mickey standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room, he stood up from the couch and dragged them back into Mickey’s room. Terry didn’t really seem to notice.

                “Iggy, what’s going on?” Mickey pleaded, desperate for an answer. Ian was practically a member of the family by now, so when Iggy put a comforting, brotherly arm around Mickey, he put the other around Ian.

                “Mom’s gone…” Iggy said carefully. Mickey had a cautious look on his face, as if he were pondering whether to be sad or relieved.

                “Sh-she left? She left dad?” He asked incredulously. At the hopeful tone in his brother’s voice, Iggy grimaced.

                “No. She was… She took a bunch of pills, and she picked up Mandy from school early so she could take her to get a haircut, or some bullshit. She got hazy at the wheel, I guess…” Iggy trailed off, and Ian could already feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t want Iggy to finish telling the story. Thankfully, Mickey understood as well so they didn’t need to hear the end.

                “She said she was… gonna stop.” Mickey’s voice sounded hollow. It was like he wasn’t really speaking, just spewing out pre-recorded thoughts. Ian knew he shouldn’t be crying. He should be strong and hold Mickey while _he_ cries. But he couldn’t stop. Once the tears started he saw no end in sight. Mickey, strangely, wasn’t crying. He was looking at Ian, _through_ Ian.

                “Mandy’s okay, right?” Mickey said, his voice sounding farther and farther away. Iggy nodded and leaned over to hug his brother, but Mickey stepped back. He told Iggy he had homework to do (which of course wasn’t true) but Iggy nodded and left the boys alone, shutting the door behind him. Of all the kids, Mickey, Mandy and Ian had been closest to Darla. Ian tried to step toward Mickey to offer some kind of comfort, despite the fact that he was crying like a baby. Mickey dodged Ian and grabbed the tattoo kit from his backpack, and then he climbed up the ladder into his bed.

                “ _You comin’ or what_?” Mickey scowled down at Ian. “ _I need you to finish the tattoo_.”

                Ian couldn’t believe it. Mickey was sitting there stone faced, asking Ian to tattoo him when his mother just _died_?

                “ _What, are you pussying out on me_?” Mickey snapped. Ian scrambled up the ladder and sat cross-legged before Mickey, with the tattoo kit set down on the mattress between them.

                “U-up.” Mickey said stiffly, holding out his left fist. Ian could barely see through his tears but he did his best to finish Mickey’s tattoo, even though it took him a while. He had to stop for several minutes at a time because his hands would shake. Mickey never said a word; he just stared down at the words on his knuckles until Ian was done. By the time Ian finally managed to finish, it was starting to get dark. Movement in the kitchen caught Ian’s attention. Thankfully, he’d stopped crying. His expression was still despondent, but his stomach was growling.

                “ _Let’s go find something to eat_ ,” Ian pleaded, pulling on Mickey’s sleeve. Mickey was unresponsive. He shrugged off Ian’s hand and pushed the tattoo kit out of the way, then moved to lie down facing the wall, away from Ian. Ian grimaced sadly and climbed down from Mickey’s bed, scurrying off to the kitchen. Since Darla was the one who usually cooked, there wasn’t really a proper dinner. Terry had ordered a couple large pizzas and everyone was grabbing slices. Ian got a plate and loaded up on four slices; two for himself and two for Mickey. He then retrieved two soda cans from the fridge and hurried back to Mickey’s room. Mickey hadn’t moved an inch from where he was lying, and Ian was worried he wasn’t even breathing. He looked so still. Knowing Mickey tended to be a little more open in the dark, Ian shut off the light and carefully made his way to the ladder. He shoved the soda cans in the pockets of his cargo pants and climbed up one-handedly.

                “ _Hey Mickey_ ,” he said softly, sitting behind Mickey who still didn’t move. “ _Gotcha some pizza, and a coke_.” Ian reached around Mickey and put the plate and one of the cans in front of Mickey. They ate silently for about ten minutes. Well, Ian ate. Mickey picked at the pieces, nibbling on small chunks of cheese and pieces of pepperoni, and left his soda unopened, forgetting about it completely. Ian was distressed. Not just about Mickey’s mother, but about the crestfallen brunet himself. He barely ate the equivalent of half a slice. Ian knew he should have called Fiona to let her know where he was, but he couldn’t leave Mickey alone. Sure, Mickey had his family. But he knew none of them would come in here and stay with him all night, even though he wasn’t crying or responding. Ian grabbed the plate and climbed down the ladder. He didn’t really feel like going to the kitchen, so he just left Mickey’s uneaten slices on the desk. He was about to climb into the bottom bunk to sleep since Mickey had complained about it that morning, when a small voice came from above him.

                “Ian?” Mickey whispered. His voice sounded rough and wet, as if he’d been crying. Ian climbed up the ladder faster than he even thought possible.

                “ _Yes Mickey?”_ He asked eagerly.

                “ _The fuck’re you doing?”_

_“I was getting into the bottom bunk.”_

_“_ Oh.” That single, broken syllable was filled with so much hurt and loneliness that Ian was surprised that he managed to keep his own tears at bay. Slow and cautious, Ian crawled up next to Mickey. He didn’t lay down with him. Instead, he rested his back against the pillow and gently tugged at Mickey’s sleeve again. Mickey didn’t pull away this time; he rolled over and laid his head on Ian’s leg. Ian’s thigh was skinny and uncomfortable to rest on but Mickey didn’t care. He began to hyperventilate, clutching the fabric of Ian’s pants as he cried uncontrollably. He was thankful for the darkness so Ian wouldn’t see, but he couldn’t stop the sobs or the tears. Ian stayed silent, trying to comfort Mickey the only way he knew how; the way Fiona did. He petted and stroked Mickey’s hair, scratching his scalp gently and rubbing Mickey’s back with his other hand. He didn’t care that Mickey’s hair was greasy and in all likelihood hadn’t been washed in over a week, or that his nose was running profusely on Ian’s leg, or that the back of his shirt was soaked with stress sweat. He stayed like that with Mickey well into the night until the crying brunet fell asleep out of pure exhaustion, all cried out. Even when Mickey fell asleep, Ian continued to reassuringly massage Mickey’s back and push his fingers through his dark hair which was now matted to his forehead with more stress sweat and drying tears. Ian stared at the inflammation of Mickey’s knuckles where his tattoos stuck out against his pale skin, discernible even in the dark since Ian’s eyes had adjusted hours ago. He finally fell asleep like that; propped up against the pillow, his chin tucked into the dip of his collarbone, and his fingers tangled protectively in his best friend's hair.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at rain-dance-mickey.tumblr.com


End file.
